


Respawn in _

by ferricent



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Red vs. Blue
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferricent/pseuds/ferricent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a crossover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respawn in _

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ehmazing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehmazing/gifts).



“Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the low, despicable _blue_ team attacked!”

“That was inspiring, sir.”

“I wasn't finished Simmons!”

“Wait, there are _four_ nations, so... Are there more team colors? Because my skin really does more in vermilions. Is there a team Deep Hued Greens? Could we be them in the winter?”

“This meeting isn't just going to be us listening to a dumb speech, is it?”

“Donut! You are ridiculous. Grif! You are terrible.”

“What about me, sir?”

“Yeah, do Simmons next.”

“Oh yeah! Do him _hard_.”

“Donut..... _why_....”

“You are all getting demotions. All of you.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“What about this one... 'Am I a waterbender? Because I'll bet I'm making you wet.'”

“But Tucker.... you _are_ a waterbender. You've been _bending_. Your. _Whole. Life_.”

“Caboose...”

“It's true! Tucker! Tucker. It is.... your identity. It is... _who you are!_.

“Caboose, I---Look, just tell me what you think of that line.”

“I hate it.”

“Really? No, no, hang on, wait, just... imagine you're a chick.”

“ _Can I be an airbender_.”

“What does tha---Fine. Yes.”

“And can I be the Earth King.”

“Don't you mean Earth Qu—Wait, what the hell? Who cares, just tell me if you think that line would work!”

“Okay, I think... if I was a girl... the Earth Queen... I would hear you say that.... and then... I would say.... 'Tucker is banished.'”

“............”

“'You are banished forever.'”

“Will both of you **_SHUT UP????_** ”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Blood Gulch is a warground. Blood Gulch is a field study for combat team coordination and tactics. The stone fortresses that hem in the line of the canyon are standard architecture. The prize flags are regulation colors. The battle reports---when they are filed---are filed to code, albeit often in the language of a northern Earth Kingdom province. Blood gulch is scorched, and soaked, and everything it is supposed to be. 

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Freelancer Agent Texas's fist slams into the ground and the world breaks like a tremor. But Wyoming is already moving out from behind the wall of cracked ice, leaping off the edge of a lifted chunk of boulder. It explodes, and he twists in midair, brown dust clinging to white armor, fingers calling out bolts of water from the flask at his wrist. Tex dodges the first icicle, but the next shot leaves a scratch on her black mask. 

“You're going to have to do better to keep up, _Texas_!”

This is no game.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“When we were together, before the resistance really started to get hot, Tex was part of a program that paired... aspect spirits to human warriors, to give them abilities in battle.”

“Like metalbending? Or dick punching?”

“Exactly. There were other agents in the program that could see through walls, or mess with time, or walk in the spirit world. But the aspect spirit Tex got was just... mean. Pure aggression. They broke out of the program---escaped, before the spirit could be removed. I don't think it wanted that to happen. Tex didn't have a choice. It didn't really go well for either of them.”

“Wait, she's still got it?”

“Yup.”

“So her personality... that's just some angry spirit manipulating her?”

“Oh, no dude. Tex herself was always _way_ worse.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“It's military brand. Internal combustion, powered by a little old-fashioned firebending. Central rotor for consolidating forces off the wheels, and a diagonally mounted frame for even roll protection. I call it: 'The Walrushog'.”

“It looks more like a puma to me.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Blood Gulch is false.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

There is a light that comes through the pillars. It does not match their shadows.

“When they created the aspect spirits, they had to be based on... a person. And the successive spirits became obsessed with finding that person. Returning to that person.”

“And that's who we want, right? Who are we looking for?”

“See, Church, that's the wrong question.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The youngest Dakota laughs, struggling for breath. “Oh yeah? What you gonna do, Wash? Shoot me?”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

There are Unified Three Nations Resistance troops on every side of the temple ring. Ten on the west edge of the compound, ten, a dozen on the northern wall. Twenty to the south and east, and every warrior armed. It is, after all, a military facility. The Dakotas are surrounded.

They stand back to back, checking for holes in the line, for a way out. Nothing. Some bitter ranker in grey armor starts to speak. Two words.

And then there is a rumble that holds _everything_ , and dirt, and panic. One of the soldiers shouts “Earthquake!” and a second officer screams a mass order that no one hears. The world is flame and dust. North ducks an arrow, then an arrow on fire. The temple is breaking. The soldiers on the northern wall are calling for a medic, for blades. The side of the tall mountain is cracked all at once, whole buildings tumbling, catching at the cloud layer.

South Dakota whispers like she wants to chew through her mask.

“What the hell is _she_ doing here??”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Now, look everyone. I know I'm not _completely_ certified in waterbender healer training. Or in general medicine. Or in human anatomy. Or in anything. But if you want to feel a little less sick, you need to suck on these frozen frogs."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Church, how come you always get to use the Yu Yan bow?”

Church squints through the disc of fired crystal on the bow's tip, scanning the canyon for Donut.

“Because that's just how life works, I guess.”

“Do you even know how to fire that thing?”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_The war against the Fire Nation had become a struggle for survival._ The director's handwriting is a neat script, deliberate and lined. The messenger hawk shifts on its perch, head cocked in the torchlight. _National and political structures were eroded. Our concepts of what ~~we thought~~ was right were shaken, tested in the burn of war. Our concepts of what was possible transformed entirely. Had ~~the three nations~~ we known of the eclipse, or of what the pirate Smellerbee discovered, events may have played ~~out~~ differently. But ours was a fight for the planet, of human dignity against the Phoenix King. Your committee's queries are irrelevant. It was fate and history that guided us to our methods. A fate and history that we sought to take back. _

The Counselor holds the scroll to the blue candle and counts the strokes made in the reactive ink, noting the characters, and their marks. The command is priority zero. Highest secrecy. He may not survive.

Dipping his quill in ink, he adds six marks at random and then begins drafting his addendum. The quill nib bites at the little scratchpad. He twists the letter back into its seal.

The hawk goes up, out through the tunnels, seeking for the moon.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Alright team, here's the plan! Donut! Using masterfully controlled firebending and natural talent, you will create a dazzling rainbow of flame to distract the enemy! Simmons, you and I will use Grif's body as a shield! Lopez, you'll sneak over the the other side and steal their battle plan! It's foolproof!”

“Sarge, the Blues have just been bending water balloons at us. Which, actually, I think _is_ their battle plan.”

“Yeah, that strategy sucks. And why am I a human shield?”

“You'll be dead, Grif! It's tragic, tragic stuff.”

“Dead of.... water balloons.”

“You drown! It's a horrible accident!”

“Dead of....”

“But we put aside our collective grief and go on to utterly defeat the Blues!”

“I'm going back inside.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“So... these spirits...”

Agent Washington makes no reply. Tucker tries again.

“I mean, you were a freelancer, right? What happened to yours?”

“It went insane.”

Tucker makes a small noise. Whatever his next question was, it is cut.

“It was... about as pleasant as you'd imagine.”

“Wow. Uh... yeah, that's... I'm sorry?”

Agent Washington says nothing.

“And, _you're_ all...”

“ _Yes._ I'm fine. I'm perfectly sane. Look, overall, we... _I_ was one of the lucky ones.”

“Having a spirit go insane inside your head was _lucky_?”

“No. But there were other parts of the program that were harmful from the beginning, and... well, most other freelancers are dead. We were elite to begin with, most of us talented benders with years of combat training. But the aspect spirits pushed us into something else entirely, and almost every pairing was an experiment in itself. We were never the end product.”

“What was?”

“I don't know. If they had some kind of 'result' in mind, it's hard to imagine what it could be. There were agents that could bend blood, _including_ their own. You could never hit them. They'd just flick themselves out of the way. There were experiments where... one agent would get an aspect spirit, and another wouldn't, and they'd have to figure out the same challenges. I was an experiment to see how a nonbender would react to and incorporate being able to bend in their fighting. I'll never forget the first time aspect spirit R and I bent fire. It was like I had this whole other lifetime of power within me.”

“But then they went insane.”

“Actually, just R did. There was a... guilt, that belonged to the spirit, that I thought was my own. It almost made me...”

Agent Washington doesn't say “crazy”.

“But the other spirits weren't like that. They just became obsessed with finding the thing they'd all come from. Sometimes suicidally so.”

A log in the campfire collapses, hissing sparks. Agent Washington pauses.

“We _trusted_ our spirits, was the thing. Trusted that when they told us to walk into archers' sights or into fortresses crawling with warrior benders and swordsmen, they'd get us out alive. But it... It was never about us.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“Guys, its _perfect_. They think we're just going to keep throwing _water_ , right?”

The sphere of water balanced between Church's hands solidifies, becomes a chunk of ice. Light twinkles at its points.

“Boom! _Ice bomb!_. Red team gets a visit to Fucked Up town and we all buy rich houses in Victory City.”

“That's... actually a plan that might work! I am... intensely frightened.”

“I can punch you if you want, Tucker.”

“Caboose...”

“ _I will shatter the veil of dreams._ ”

“Caboose, no, listen. If Tucker and I provide cover fire, you've got the arm to launch this at the Reds.”

“Yes.”

“Yes! Alright. We're going to be a little ways forward, on that hill, with the balloons. You ready, Tucker?”

“Fuck it, sure.”

Yes! Now Caboose, I just need you to promise me. When you throw this... it needs to be _the greatest throw of all time_.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It isn't until four days later, coming out of the treeline and into the snow, that Tucker remembers what he'd meant to ask.

“Wash! You had aspect spirit 'R'?”

“Roku. Right. Why?”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“I can't believe I'm a fucking ghost.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“And Tex?”

“Spirit K.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

“The question, Church, isn't 'who'. It's 'what'.”

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The sabotage and injury of the U-3-N-R records---six towers, all in flame---means that there is no archived truth of the artifact girdled to the Freelancer carrier's main anchors, the floating crate that had once been the treasure of The Mother Of Invention. The stripped vessel held no answers, too quiet for a ship meant to be haunted. Nonetheless, the soldiers on the transport team filled in their own ideas.

They had found some ancient beast, and captured it, meaning to breed it for an unstoppable army of pangomammoths.

The great chamber had been used for human sacrifices, boons to spirits of the ocean, great walls built for the pressures at the lowest depths.

They used the crate for testing. For wild experiments. For some other treasure they'd stolen away.

The guesses were as quick as stories, as quick as the superstitions that covered the wreck. But the main nature of the chamber---channels built in the structure for waterbenders to cast in frost---returned every theory to two questions.

What had Project Freelancer discovered?

And why had they needed to keep it so cold?


End file.
